Within You Without You
by Free As A Bird
Summary: How had he come to this? How had he done it? Killing so many with so little regard. That wasn’t like him…or was it? Was this his true self, laid bare at last? He closed his eyes and gave a bitter smile. What would she think of him now?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Do I have to? Don't make me say it. Please don't make me say it. ...Fine. Saiyuki is not mine. It is the property of the talented Minekura-san. May her imagination never die. Oh, and I don't own the Beatles, either. It was just easier than coming up with my own title. So sue me.

...Please don't sue me. I'm a poor university student. It's not worth it.

Note: If this looks familiar...you're probably imagining things. If you're not imagining things, then there's a chance you saw this story in its previous, long-neglected incarnation. I have revived it, broken it into smaller chapters, and (gasp) actually updated it. I'll try to keep it alive and healthy this time, I promise.

Reviews are immensely appreciated. _Hint hint_ ;)

Rated for general Saiyuki-ness (swearing, innuendo, etc.)

* * *

Try to realize it's all within yourself  
no one else can make you change  
And to see you're really only very small  
and life flows on within you and without you.

–The Beatles

* * *

_The sound of rain is drumming in my ears. The drumming is so loud. I think I might go crazy._

Cho Gonou stood in the middle of a great hall, splattered by the blood of countless demons. Blood coated everything: himself, the dead, the dying, the carpet, the walls, even the ceiling. The smell of it was almost overwhelming, as were the screams of his victims that still echoed in his ears. But he ignored it. As he stood there, alone, surrounded by this carnage, the only thing that held his attention was the rain.

It was relentless, this constant pounding that filled his ears on all sides and blocked out everything else; the noise seeming to press down so hard on him that he was sure he must collapse beneath it. If it continued for much longer, it seemed that it might become a part of him, and that he would hear it wherever he went, no matter what the weather. All he could hear would be rain, and all he could see would be this suffocating darkness, like the darkness that was consuming his very soul.

All of a sudden, he laughed. It sounded harsh and unnatural, even to him, as it rang through this place of death and misery. Here he was, callous killer of hundreds upon hundreds of demons and humans, and what was he disturbed by? The rain! His hysterical laughter rang through the building until at last, body trembling and breaths ragged; he rested his back against the wall and slid exhaustedly down to the ground.

Alone in the castle, silent save for the ever-present beating of the rain and the throbbing of blood through his veins, Gonou leaned his head back and gazed pensively up at the hand held deceptively still before him.

"I'm sorry. Look, Kanan. You always said you liked my hands. But now…I went and bathed them in red."

How had he come to this? How had he done it? Killing so many with so little regard. That wasn't like him…or was it? Was this his true self, laid bare at last? He closed his eyes and gave a bitter smile. What would she think of him now? What would she think of these hands, marred and soiled beyond forgiveness?

Everything had been a blur of agony, ever since he had come home that day to find his home destroyed and his lover gone. He went through with the killings – no, the murders, that's what they were – he did them automatically, not thinking about it. He couldn't think about it, because if he did…he shied away from that train of thought.

Even now, in the midst of all this carnage, he was still in shock. Nothing, not what had happened, what he did, had truly sunken in. It wouldn't until he finally found her, finally had her back, finally could go home in peace and try to forget it all…

And then she drew away from him, pulling his knife out of its sheath and smiling, _smiling_, as she moved once more beyond his reach. He watched those last moments as if they were in slow motion, helpless, each heartbeat unbearably painful as the knife rose… _Somebody kill me_… And then it plunged, and there was blood, more blood, and the world ever so slowly, piece by piece, fell apart.

* * *

"Kanan!"

Cho Gonou woke up with the name of his lover on his lips, just as he had every day since he had come out of a coma to find himself in the home of a man whose hair and eyes were the colour of sin. He tried to sit up, then fell back with a gasp, clutching his stomach and trying not to vomit from the pain. He closed his eyes, reliving those final moments over and over again, and finding that agony far harder to bear than the throbbing that filled his body. Tears trickled unnoticed down his cheeks, mirroring the raindrops that slid down the window. He was a murderer, but all for nothing. After all that, he still couldn't save her. All he could do was watch, helpless, as he lost her once again. In a way, he had died that day. That was probably the reason he woke up every morning expecting to find himself in hell.


	2. Chapter 2

The other occupant of the small house was dragged from sleep by the now-familiar cry. Sha Gojyo stared blearily up at the ceiling as he pondered the stranger he had taken into his home just a few weeks before. _That must've been some woman_, he found himself thinking. He couldn't imagine caring for someone that deeply. He had never been that close to anyone in his life, man or woman, and he doubted he ever would. And from the looks of this guy, he didn't want to. If that was what being in love meant, he'd stick to sex. Sex was so much simpler.

Except it wasn't.

You think: no attachments, no stress, no commitment. Just a night of fun and games. But it also meant waking up in an empty bed with only the memory of warmth, or creeping out in the middle of the night because the only thing you really liked about her were her curves, and didn't want to deal with her simpering or fawning the next morning, didn't want anything but the brief, intense pleasure that sex brought, and the feeling of not being alone. But when that was over, even if she was still in the bed beside you, you were alone again, and no matter how many times you did it, that never changed. And the better it felt in the beginning, the stronger the loneliness when it was all over. You screwed to get away from the feeling, only to find it crashing down on you harder than ever when it was over.

_Shit…_

He put a hand over his eyes and tried to drive those feelings away. What was it about that guy that brought out all these pathetic thoughts? Depression must be contagious. What was freaky, though, was the way he would smile, even when he didn't mean it, even when there was nothing to smile about. He was beginning to do it more and more, jamming all the misery that was clearly still there behind a pair of upturned lips. The disturbing thing, though, was that he was getting good at it. How the hell could he put on a smile that real?

But then, come to think of it, didn't Gojyo do something similar? Always grinning, gambling, flirting with the ladies, acting like he had all he could ever want with life. Ha. As if. Hell, life was easy, but what did that matter when everything you had was shallow and meaningless?

Then there was all the bullshit about being a half-breed, a taboo child. Sure, there were a lot of places where no one knew the meaning of crimson hair and matching eyes, but that didn't change what he was. No matter what, he still had that blood dangling in front of his face, and staring back at him from mirrors. Yeah, he could dye it or shave it all off, but it would still be there. And it would still be the reason for – and the reminder of – his mother's actions…

_Fuck this._

All he was doing was acting like a little crybaby. He hauled himself up from the mattress on the floor where he was sleeping while his new roommate had the bed. Grabbing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter that were never far from reach, he went outside into the cool night air and leaned against the front of the house. Lighting up, he leaned back and savoured the feeling as the familiar smoke filled his lungs, and thought back to the night he had (literally) picked up this unusual house guest.

* * *

It had been a typical night at the bar. Gojyo was winning, as usual, and the girls were flocking around him, also as usual. Tongpu was already running low on cash (he always let him win just often enough to keep him coming back; the man never seemed to learn), and Gojyo was promising to pay for the next round of drinks, thereby winning even more women to his side. He smirked.

"What gorgeous hair. How did you say you dye it? And your eyes are wine red up close."

Suddenly, the bar felt far too close, the women's shrill voices too grating, the time too late. He got up, leaving a half-finished drink and a nearly empty ashtray, telling the barkeep to put it all on his tab as he made his exit. Out in the open air, beneath a curtain of water, he slowly made his way home.

What would be worse? Have them all know what this colour means, and be shunned by them, or keep it hidden and know that they'd all hate him if they knew the truth? Live as an outcast or live a lie. Some choice.

He held out a strand of hair in front of his eyes. "Gorgeous hair, she says. Riiiiight. Not when it's the colour of-"

His brooding was interrupted by a thud and a splatter of mud not far ahead of him. He looked up in surprise to find a young man, seemingly about his age, collapsed on the path. And man, was he a wreck. He was covered in blood, and more was quickly pouring out of him to mix with the mud and rain. There was a giant gash in his stomach, and it looked like half his insides were now mingling with the mud. That couldn't be very good. All in all, it was not the most visually appealing sight Gojyo had ever seen. He walked over to the miserable heap and tentatively prodded it with his boot.

"Hey, man. You dead down there?" To his surprise, the man shifted slightly. "Hunh. Guess that's a no." He was impressed. That guy could sure as hell take a beating. But his thoughts were interrupted by the man's reaction to his words. He shifted slightly, and the one eye that wasn't covered by his arm gazed up at him. _He…looked at me. And I thought he laughed at me._

* * *

Gojyo shook his head at the memory of that smile. It wasn't anything like the ones he was given now, that was for sure. It was…well, he didn't ever want to see a look like that on another living thing. It was a look that was indescribable, that contained far more than could possibly be expressed in words, or even understood by anyone who had not seen what he had. It was a look that said he had been through hell, that the worst ordeal you had ever faced was really a walk in the park, that, given the choice, he would rather take death. It was a look that, once you saw it, you would never, ever forget. He shuddered.

Shocked by the force of that look, it had taken him a while to pull himself together and act. He had half carried, half dragged the man the remaining distance to his home, which fortunately wasn't very far. It had been hard work, getting him there without anything else falling apart, using his jacket to try and keep all the bits in. By the time he finally got home, he and the stranger were both completely soaked in blood. It seemed impossible that he could have any of the liquid left in his body. Who knew a person could bleed so much?

And then, since holding a person's innards in place with an article of clothing isn't the best medical practice, he needed to get someone who knew what they were doing. So the doctor came, with grumbles about the ungodly hour which quickly turned into murmurs of surprise and sympathy at the sight of the ravaged form. It seemed hours before it was finally over, every wound cleaned and dressed, and the gaping hole in his stomach completely sewn up. The doctor left, spouting what seemed to be an endless list of instructions and unable to stress enough the order that Gojyo not smoke near the recovering man. Did the quack not think he could understand English? It couldn't, of course, have anything to do with the countless ashtrays, beer cans, and really any available receptacle that were overflowing with cigarette butts. Or the fact that he was well known to be a chain smoker. So from that night until he finally woke from the coma, a week later, he had to go outside whenever he wanted a smoke. Every damn time. And he smoked a lot. But he'd already gone to this much trouble to keep that guy alive, and he sure as hell wasn't going to wreck it now.

But what kind of man had he actually saved? What kind of person could give a smile like that? Or maybe…what kind of person had he become, after going through whatever horrors had left him like that? Would he end up with a complete psycho on his hands? Or a broken creature who would slowly waste away long after his body recovered? The kappa had plenty of time to mull over this, since the subject of his musings needed almost constant attention just to make sure he didn't die. This put a bit of a crimp in his social life. It also meant he couldn't spend nearly as much time earning income (in other words, gambling). Man…just how far was he willing to go to help some complete stranger who probably wouldn't be thankful anyway? He honestly had no idea. He had a feeling he would find out.


	3. Chapter 3

There was the texture of rough sheets beneath his fingers, and a rather flattened pillow beneath his head. He seemed to be lying on a lumpy mattress, and swathed in bandages. Slowly, he opened his eyes – or tried to. It seemed one wouldn't obey. Then the memories rushed back and so did the pain, both physical and mental, and he squeezed the eye shut again. He lay like that for some indeterminate time, battling with the deep, consuming ache that he was certain would never go away. Finally, he found the strength to venture another look, curious about his surroundings.

A gentle light above his head; a cracked ceiling; numerous crushed beer cans; magazines of a rather…questionable…nature; and cigarette butts everywhere. Odd.

"This isn't what I expected. Hell is rather anti-climactic."

Suddenly enough to make him jump, a hand slammed down on either side of his head, and he found himself gazing up into a pair of crimson eyes framed by long red hair.

"Who're you calling anti-climactic?"

Stunned, he could only continue to stare as the stranger spoke. The man was so close his hair was almost brushing Gonou's face.

"About time you woke up," he went on, then finally moved away and picked up a pack of cigarettes. "The doctor wouldn't shut up about how you had to sleep. And he wouldn't let me smoke in here. _Now let me smoke. __**Now**__."_

"H-hai. Go ahead."

So he was still alive. Why? Why should he, who committed more than a thousand murders, be allowed to live when so many innocents were not? Was there any justice in this world? He laughed silently at himself. Of course there wasn't. He of all people should know that by now.

There was one question, however, that he could probably get an answer to. He addressed the man who was now sitting with his back to Gonou a little way away.

"Ano…were you the one who helped me?"

He took a casual drag from his cigarette. "Why? Are you mad?"

…_Mad?_

"That this isn't hell, I mean."

_Ah._

Was he mad? Did he _want _to be in hell? He certainly expected to be…but that wasn't the same as wanting it.

"I take it you wanted to die."

_Kill me…Somebody kill me…_Images he couldn't forget, would never forget, flooded his head.

Yes…he had wanted to die. He had wanted desperately for it all to end and for the excruciating pain to finally go away. But now…

"No. I'm…glad I'm still here. Thank you very much."

The man seemed to accept that answer without question, instead steering the conversation elsewhere. Apparently he had 'kinda shoved your guts back in.' Gonou pushed away the image and the queasy feeling that statement brought, covering it with a smile and a word of thanks as he accepted a cup of steaming coffee.

Now that he finally had a chance to slow down and reflect on all that had happened, he found he couldn't. It was too overwhelming, all the recent horrors and the surprise of being picked up and cared for by this red-haired person. He felt dazed, able only to react to his surroundings. Staring into the deep brown liquid, he let the other's words wash over him, not really paying attention, hardly thinking anything at all. Did he even know the name of the man who had kept him from death? Maybe he had been told, he didn't remember. This was pathetic. Was he so self-absorbed that he couldn't even take in something like that?

The next line, however, managed to draw him out of his introspection.

"This is the first and last time I carry a dude to bed, got it?"

That seemed a rather strange thing to say. Then again, judging by the debris scattered around the room, perhaps this was normal for his host. Another thing he would have to adjust to. Still, his new companion's presence was not unwelcome. He had an easy-going, ask-no-questions manner about him, and that was something Gonou needed right now. He gave a slight smile. "Yes sir." Then he looked away again to search for answers in the depths of a cup of coffee.

* * *

Slowly, Gonou began to adjust to his new lodgings, although it was much harder to come to terms with what had happened such a short time before. The man whose home it was, he learned, went by the name Sha Gojyo, and the environment he lived in did indeed reflect his personality. He drank, smoked, swore, and slept around, although he largely refrained from the latter while looking after his charge. He was definitely not the sort of person Gonou would have associated with in the past. But Gojyo never probed into his past, never pushed him, and seemed to understand when to leave him alone and when to stay – perhaps in an adjacent room, just within sight, or outside the window smoking, but always there. And that was worth a lot more than just having to put up with the occasional cigarette butt or crumpled beer can.

Well, not occasional. They were all over the place. Sometimes he just itched to get up and give the place a thorough cleaning. He probably would have, too, if not for the searing pain in his abdomen that made it almost impossible to move, and the raw emotions that took away all desire to.

He stared up at the ceiling and sighed. It felt as though the pain would never go away, never even lessen, and he'd be burdened with it for the rest of his life. However much of it there was left. But he couldn't die, not yet. He couldn't rest until he found her again, saw her one last time, and put her to rest properly the way she deserved. Until then…he had to hold on, no matter how hard it was at times.


	4. Chapter 4

Gradually, Gojyo's guest began to recover, in body if not in spirit. Soon he was able to walk around by himself, and almost before that was offering to help with the housework in order to be 'less of a burden.' Gojyo simply shoved him back down and told him to keep his ass under those covers, because he wasn't about to fix up that wound again if he overexerted himself and ripped it open again. Just the though of Gojyo 'stuffing his insides back in' was probably motivation enough to take his advice and stay put. It was enough to convince Gojyo he could do without the help. Having his hands inside someone's stomach up to the wrists was not an experience he wanted to repeat.

They were sitting at the table one day shortly after this when the subject of his past actually came up. He had been quiet and abstract all day (more so than usual, that is), and it seemed he finally wanted to let something out.

There was a sigh. "I honestly was…hoping to wake up in hell," he began, as if no time had passed since the day he woke up to find himself in Gojyo's home. "I've felt that way ever since I lost someone dear." Well, no surprise there, really. The guy woke up every morning screaming a woman's name. What else could the reason be?

"Your lover?"

"Well yes. That's half of it." He sat there with that damn smile on his face again, when obviously he had nothing to be happy about right now. And what did he mean, 'That's half of it'?

"She was also my sister."

Then there was silence, save for the sound of the man calmly sipping his coffee. Memories flitted through Gojyo's mind: his mother, clinging to Jien and telling him he was the only one Mommy loved; Jien, telling him to go back to his room; the regular creaks and sighs coming from the next room…

_I wish that I was deaf._

Then another smile, indecipherable, and more words to bring him back to the present. "Do you think less of me?"

What, was he expecting Gojyo to throw him out after all this, just because of that one little confession?

"Ah, whatever," he answered, eyes once more distant. "I guess some people…go for that."

He seemed almost relieved then, apologetic, as he explained how they had been from different orphanages, and nobody else really knew.

He also seemed to think that it was his fault he didn't magically sense she was in danger and come running to her aid like a knight in shining armour. Idiot. Like anyone could do that. There's no 'special power' that lets you know when something important is happening. Sometimes you're in the position to do something about it, and sometimes you aren't. That's life. After all, he would know. Being helpless to stop another's suffering…at least this guy wasn't the _cause_.

And then he stopped talking, and there was a momentary silence. Shit, did he expect some sort of comforting speech, some profound words of wisdom? 'Cause he was asking the wrong guy.

"…Reality's a bitch."

With that eloquent introduction, he began to scold his new housemate. "You can't blame all that crap on yourself. It wasn't because you didn't love her enough." Gojyo would know. He had loved his mother and look where it got the two of them. _Fuck._ He shook himself mentally. _Not this shit again._ But he had to wonder. What was love, exactly? It seemed pretty fucked up, whatever it was. He loved his mother, she wanted to kill him. Jien loved his mother and him, and ended up killing her to save him. This guy loved his sister, but he couldn't stop her from dying. Love seemed to cause a hell of a lot of pain. And yet people went on and on about it, like it was the best thing in the world. People willingly died for it. And apparently it worked for some people, because they ended up staying together their whole lives. Personally, that didn't sound too appealing. He wouldn't be able to stand spending his whole life with any of the girls he knew. Of course, that probably said something about the kind of girls he knew. Still, one night stands were better than hanging around and getting screwed later when something went wrong. And something always went wrong.

_The love I couldn't get, and the love he couldn't protect. While blaming our own powerlessness…we're watching illusions fade into a sea of blood._

* * *

It was night again. Gonou gazed up at the cracked ceiling illuminated by moonlight, and made a decision. It was time to leave. His wound was healing, and he could now move around on his own with little difficulty. He could not continue to burden his host with his presence. He was likely a hunted man now, and it would only cause trouble for Gojyo-san should he choose to stay any longer than absolutely necessary. And he owed it to the man not to get him more involved than he already was. Yes, tomorrow he would give his thanks and take his leave.

He sighed. Was this what the rest of his life would be like? Running from place to place, not daring to stay anywhere for very long for fear of endangering both himself and the others who lived there. He raised his hand above his head and stared up at it. In the dappled moonlight that fell upon it he could easily imagine that he saw bloodstains there. He always would. He closed his eyes and let his arm fall back to his side. If this was to be his fate, so be it. He earned every minute of it. If he had to suffer a year for every life he took, still it would not be enough to atone for his deeds. And even if he managed to find somewhere safe and welcoming to settle down, he would always have this piercing ache inside of him; that in itself was punishment enough.

He let out a long unhappy breath as he found his thoughts settling into the same abysmal rut they had been following for what already seemed like an eternity. _Kanan…_ Gradually he drifted off into a shallow, restless sleep punctuated with shadowy memories and morbid imaginings.


	5. Chapter 5

Sanzo strode swiftly back to the temple, irritation and impatience plain in his face. He was always ill-tempered after speaking with the Sanbutsushin. That is, more ill-tempered than usual. All that humility couldn't be good for him. He wasn't used to having to listen patiently and hold back derisive comments and impatient questions. It couldn't be healthy.

Anyone who knew him would probably laugh and (if they had a death wish) mock him if they saw him kneeling down and being…respectful. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if the talking heads themselves thought it was funny. Genjo Sanzo was not 'respectful.' Other people were respectful to _him_. If they weren't, they faced the business end of his gun or, if he was feeling lenient, the displeasure of his paper fan. Unfortunately, even Genjo Sanzo couldn't treat the three aspects that way. Besides, they were helping him search for his master's scripture.

All the same, that didn't mean he should have to go hunting after every single lost relic and criminal. He wasn't an errand boy, he was a Sanzo! Let them send someone else to do their dirty work. He had more important things he could be doing. He only hoped that the other monks would get the message and give him some peace…

"Priest Sanzo! Thank heaven you've returned!"

But of course not. Some people couldn't take a hint if it was shoved down their throats. Which was something Sanzo would dearly like to do.

"What is it now?" he asked, grinding out every word. The man addressing him tried to look respectful, apologetic, and regretful all at once, obviously unhappy that he was the one to have to bring this up. That, at least, gave Sanzo some small feeling of satisfaction. Which quickly vanished as he discovered the reason the monks were so glad to see him back.

There was Goku, covered in filth from head to toe, and holding up an equally filthy puppy.

Of course. What else–or rather, _who_ else–could it possibly be?

"Hey, Sanzo's home!" the boy cried cheerfully. Before the reluctant monk at his side could finish describing the damage the two had caused, Sanzo was already whipping out his fan and applying it soundly to his charge's head.

"_Baka saru!"_

And so, with indignant cries and exasperated threats, what now passed for normality in Chang'an was restored.

* * *

Sanzo continued down the temple corridors, this time with his young charge in tow. But something else followed the pair down the halls as well.

"That boy is a _pest_."

"Why did Priest Sanzo pick up such a degenerate in the first place?"

"I have no idea…"

Sanzo looked over his shoulder, and the voices magically silenced. But beyond them were other echoes, different words but of the same flavour, not now audible but still heard.

_It's the kid who washed up._

_Thrown into the river after he was born. He's got a lot of nerve acting like the Sanzo's favourite pupil._

_What a weird kid. If you ask me, he should be wearing diapers, not the robes of a priest-in-training._

The voices only served to worsen his mood and so, shortly after, when Goku cheerfully asked to be taken with him on his latest journey, he flatly refused. He would have refused anyway, but this time he said it in an even grumpier tone than usual, and with even less thought.

"But it _sucks_ here, Sanzo!" Goku protested. "I don't wanna be alone!"

And those simple words brought back others, some many years old and some voiced only minutes ago, and as the boy switched to his usual strategy ("Sanzo! Take me take me! C'mon Sanzo, please? Take me Sanzo, I wanna come too!) the priest found himself relenting.

"Just can it. I can't win against your powers of annoyance."

"Huh?" Goku stared up at him, uncomprehending.

"What's the matter, Goku? Sit gawking like that, and I _will_ leave you behind."

As Goku's face lit up with realization and joy, Sanzo turned away and reflected on just how much of a pain his little ward would make this already bothersome mission.

"Wah! Wait up, wait up! Sanzo, _oi!_"

He grinned.


	6. Chapter 6

Goku fidgeted restlessly as preparations were made for the mission. It was one thing for Sanzo to say they were leaving, but another thing entirely to actually _go_. There was little packing needed (Sanzo only ever wore one outfit, after all), and they could buy their meals, but arrangements had to be made for who would take care of Sanzo's work and the temple while he was away. Monks kept running up to Sanzo with last minute questions and requests, and Goku could see the priest's temper getting shorter by the minute. It seemed like it would take forever before he could leave. Before _they_ could leave. Goku let out a happy, excited laugh, drawing several strange looks and interrupting a monk in mid-sentence, causing his guardian's mouth to quirk up in amusement. Sanzo was finally letting Goku go with him!

Goku was sick of always being left behind when Sanzo went places. Sure, he could run wherever he wanted in the temple, and there were plenty of interesting places to explore and hide in, but the monks were always running after him and yelling at him and trying to stop him from doing anything _fun_. Besides, the temple was starting to get boring. He saw it every day, and it just wasn't the same without Sanzo around. When Sanzo was there, it was different. It didn't matter if there was nothing to do, because he had Sanzo. He could stay in one room with Sanzo all day and never get bored. Of course, Sanzo seemed to yell and hit him over the head more than usual when he did that, but Goku was just trying to play. Besides, what could possibly be so interesting about a bunch of papers that Sanzo would want to look at them and make marks on them all day long? But even though he seemed to get mad, Sanzo never made Goku go away, never tried to keep him out (well, _al_most never). It seemed kinda strange, but then, it was Sanzo. Anyway, Goku didn't really mind – he was used to getting hit and yelled at now – because he got to stay with Sanzo. And Sanzo wanted him there…or at least, he didn't _not_ want him there…something like that.

But when Sanzo left, it got really lonely. Not just 'cause Sanzo wasn't there, but because none of the monks liked him. It wasn't just the yelling – Sanzo yelled at him all the time, but Goku knew he didn't _hate_ him. No, it was the whispers, the ones that seemed to follow him everywhere. They thought Goku couldn't hear them, or understand them, or maybe they just didn't care. But Goku did. It _hurt_, being whispered about. It really, really _hurt_. And when Sanzo was gone, there was no one to drive away the whispers, and nowhere to hide from them. Even if there was no one nearby, he could still hear them…and sometimes…sometimes he feared that they would come and take him back to the mountain and lock him up again, and then he'd be all alone again, and he couldn't bear that. Completely alone… At times like that, he would go to one of his secret hiding places and curl up into a ball and not come out 'til Sanzo came back, not even for food. It was that scary. He didn't want to go back there, not _ever_.

But now, if he was good, if he impressed Sanzo enough, maybe Sanzo would take him every time he went out, and he wouldn't have to be lonely anymore! That would be awesome. Goku decided he would do his very, very best on this mission, and then Sanzo would _have_ to take him everywhere he went! That would make Goku really really happy. He smiled widely just thinking about it. Going on journeys must be so much fun! The world was such a big, fascinating place, and Goku had hardly seen any of it except for on the trip between Mount Gogyou and the temple. Even then, Sanzo barely let him do anything. But that was okay, because he was too captivated by Sanzo to want to do much exploring anyway. But now Goku had seen every inch of the temple grounds, and he wanted _out_. Sanzo was so lucky; he got to go all _over_ the place! Sometimes he was gone for days, or even weeks, and Goku was both lonely and jealous. But sometimes…sometimes Sanzo came back all hurt, with scratches and cuts and bruises and all sorts of bad things. Goku frowned. It wasn't good when Sanzo got hurt. Sometimes, when Sanzo was on one of his long trips, Goku was afraid not for himself but for his sun. It was hard to imagine that there was someone strong enough to hurt Sanzo, but obviously there was. Goku always had to check him all over when he got back to make sure he was okay, and sometimes he wasn't. Sanzo never liked people fussing over him, especially when he was hurt, but when all the monks were shooed away and Sanzo shut himself up in his room, he let Goku stay in there with him. Goku didn't like seeing Sanzo hurt, but at least he could look after Sanzo, although the priest always said he let Goku stay only so he would shut up. Goku would watch as Sanzo took care of his own injuries, usually not even letting Goku help. That wasn't fair, going out without him and getting hurt, and then not even letting him look after those hurts. Goku was sure that if Sanzo would only let him go in the first place, he'd never get hurt like that. Goku would keep Sanzo safe.

And now he could! Goku felt like bouncing up and down with joy, so he did. He couldn't contain himself. Now, finally, he'd be able to explore and play and protect Sanzo and have the priest allllllll to himself. Sanzo was never going to leave him behind again, he'd make sure of it!

"What the hell are you jumping around like that for; can't you keep still for more than two seconds at a time?" Sanzo, distracted by his ward's excitement, had turned away from his latest time-waster and cut him off in the middle of a long-winded question. Goku shook his head, grinning. Sanzo rolled his eyes in exasperation, a strange expression on his face. He turned back to the monk, who was trying to look patient rather than annoyed. He seemed relieved that Sanzo was paying attention to him again. He opened his mouth to resume talking.

"You know what, the brat's right." The monk closed his mouth in confusion. "We should have left a long time ago. Hurry up Goku, let's go!" Goku bounded gleefully to Sanzo's side, the monk looking shocked.

"B-but Sanzo-sama, what am I to—"

"You have a brain rattling around that skull of yours somewhere, don't you? You should try using it once in a while." He turned around and stalked swiftly away, Goku sticking out his tongue at the lost-looking young monk before hurrying to keep up with his guardian.

"I don't know what you're so excited about," grumbled Sanzo, turning to look at him. "It's just another stupid chore the talking heads have forced on me."

Goku stared at him. Was Sanzo stupid?

"You're finally taking me with you, Sanzo," he explained patiently. "I don't hafta stay in the temple by myself, and I can make sure no baddies hurt you!" Goku was determined to do his very best. He would make Sanzo proud, for sure!

Sanzo gave him a surprised look, then turned away quickly. For a moment Goku wondered if he'd somehow said something wrong, although he couldn't imagine what. But his fears were quickly put to rest.

"Come on, monkey," said Sanzo gruffly, still not looking at him. "Let's get you a meatbun or something; I don't want you whining at me the whole way."

A meatbun! And he hadn't even asked yet! As Goku ran ahead to find a food stall, yelling his thanks and excitement, he felt like nothing could possibly go wrong. This trip was gonna be _great!_


End file.
